Attack
by AZGirl
Summary: It was just one word, but they knew that voice as well as their own – d'Artagnan. Spoilers for episode 3.01 Spoils of War.
**Disclaimer** : The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

 **Spoilers** : 3.01 Spoils of War

 **A/N** : The first of my episode tags for this season.

 **ooooooo**

" _We need a plan."_

" _Attack."_

" _I hate it when he does that."_

 _~~~~~~~ Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Athos, 3.01 Spoils of War_

 **ooooooo**

 _Five months after war was declared with Spain…_

Now that their most recent battle was over, Porthos sought out his two brothers in order to make sure that they had both come through alive. He couldn't help himself; he'd taken up the slack now that Aramis was gone and could not do it anymore.

Athos was easy to spot; the Captain was directing some of the men to retrieve the rest of the wounded from the battlefield.

D'Artagnan on the other hand… He hadn't seen the younger man since the fighting got a little too hairy and little too daunting for his comfort.

At one point during the skirmish, it looked like the Spanish were getting ready to attempt to attack the left flank, which might have cut a fourth of their troops off from the main line had it succeeded. Captain Athos had been greatly concerned about the left flank as it was being held by soldiers who had yet to see any fighting. Sometimes Porthos wondered if the General wasn't trying to lose the war on purpose.

He and d'Artagnan had taken to backing the other up on the field – and Athos too when possible – but they had gotten separated from each other at one point. Sometime during the thick of things, he and Athos had joined up when Athos saved him from getting stabbed in the back. Athos had just mentioned to him that he needed a plan to help the left flank hold, when they heard one of the men yell.

"Attack!"

It was just one word, but they knew that voice as well as their own – d'Artagnan.

Then, they heard the same word repeated along with a few other choice words. It will always be a mystery how the younger man had ended up at the left flank, but he had and at just the right time. The young soldiers seemed to find their courage and determination and were able to pull themselves together in order to repel the Spanish. The left flank had remained intact to the end.

In the confusion, Porthos had lost track of his recklessly-brave, young friend, and felt the need to find him. As time passed, he had begun to think that maybe he should be out looking for d'Artagnan amongst the wounded on the battlefield.

He turned just in time to see a few of the cavalry ride past which revealed d'Artagnan. It was if the younger man had materialized from nowhere. He was just about to yell out a greeting when he saw something that made his worry shoot sky high.

Porthos's eyes went wide and he started jogging towards his friend. "D'Artagnan!"

"What? What's wrong?" d'Artagnan said, looking startled and confused by his friend's actions.

When Porthos got close enough, he grabbed one of the Gascon's forearms and said, "You've been shot!"

"Wha—?" d'Artagnan said, still seemingly not grasping why his friend seemed to be so worried.

Porthos grabbed what he hoped was a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and made to put it over the Gascon's wound. In his mind, d'Artagnan's continued puzzlement could only mean one thing.

Guessing that d'Artagnan's confusion was due to the fact that his blood was still up from the battle, making the younger man not yet able to feel the wound, Porthos said, "You've been shot in the shoulder."—He nodded towards the arm—"See?"

D'Artagnan looked at the wound for several moments as if he couldn't understand where it had come from or why. Then he looked back up and into Porthos's eyes. "Oh," he said before he suddenly went boneless.

It was a near thing that Porthos was able to catch the Gascon before he hit the ground, the change from conscious to unconscious was so swift.

Not long after d'Artagnan woke up in the medical tent, his young friend was subjected to a ten minute dressing down from their Captain about ordering the troops around without prior orders. Shouting for the men to attack was not always the best plan.

In Porthos's opinion, Athos may have looked furious, but he had also sounded equally proud of their brother. After Athos had left to attend a debriefing with the General, Porthos cuffed the back of d'Artagnan's head for making him and Athos worry.

ooooooo

 _The fourteenth month of war with Spain…_

They were surrounded.

Nature was behind them, and a throng of Spanish surrounded them.

D'Artagnan wasn't gifted in the art of strategy like Athos was, nor did he have the amount of experience Porthos did, but he definitely knew when the situation looked bleak.

Everything had been going relatively well until there had been a momentary break in their front line. Athos had ordered a retreat to keep the line from being broken through completely.

Unfortunately, that heat of the moment decision cost them and the Spanish took advantage, driving the French forces back until they either had to stand their ground or try to retreat by crossing a wide river, overflowing with spring run-off from the mountains.

Knowing that at least half the men did not know how to swim, Athos had decided that they would make a stand. It was a decision that would likely cost the majority of their lives now that Spanish troops had encircled them. It was only a matter of time.

His main regret would be that he would never see his beloved Constance again in this life. Also high on his list of regrets was that his Captain and brother would die with yet more guilt staining his soul. He took a measure of comfort, that if he had to die, it would be standing side-by-side with his brother Musketeers and especially with his brothers of the heart – Athos and Porthos.

The only thing that had kept them alive this long had been the cover of the boulders and trees situated along the river's edge. Without them they would already have met their Maker.

Another volley of gunfire had him once again ducking behind a large, fallen tree, the bullet hitting where his head had been only moments before. Blowing out a shaky breath and whispering his thanks to God, d'Artagnan surveyed his surroundings.

While he was one of the men who could swim, he would not leave unless expressly ordered to do so, and even then Athos would probably have to bodily push him into the water when he refused to leave his Captain's side. He understood that, though Athos could swim, his friend would remain until the end with those men would could not.

More gunfire hits their cover. This time, as he felt chips of tree bark bite at his face, he heard a yelp of pain that sounded much too familiar. He looked in the direction the sound came from and caught a glimpse of Athos's face, which looked a bit pale. Had it been Athos who had been wounded?

No, that wasn't right. He then heard a groan of pain that he wished he didn't recognize – Porthos. God, no.

D'Artagnan turned towards the direction from which he'd heard the sound of pain and was in time to see Braque using a piece of cloth to cover a wound lower down on the right side of Porthos's torso. At this distance, it was tough to tell where exactly, but he hoped the wound was not in the gut. If it was, then… He shook his head to dislodge the thought wanting to take hold in his mind.

He badly wanted to be with Porthos, but he and about a dozen others were attempting to hold their ground even though they were almost completely separated from the main French force. It didn't bear thinking about if the Spanish cut them off entirely. To attempt a change of position would be almost literal suicide. From where he was crouching, he couldn't see how bad the wound was.

In his mind, though, it did not matter. He'd seen wounds – even simple scratches – fester and cause a quick, painful death. The longer Porthos or any of the others who were wounded was forced to continue on without treatment, the more likely it would be too late – either blood loss, infection, or both would kill them unless the Spanish killed them first.

If they lost Porthos, it would wreck both him and Athos, but it would completely annihilate Aramis. Aramis would blame himself for not being there, for not being able to promptly and properly treat the wound and save Porthos's life. It had been difficult adjusting to Aramis's absence, with Porthos taking it the hardest. There had been more than one time they could've used the man's skills on the battlefield and off. If they lived through the day, then how would he and Athos ever break the news?

No. He refused to think about defeat any longer. He rejected the idea that he would have to break any kind of bad news to Aramis, because there would be no need to do so. They had to do something, anything to get out of this situation. D'Artagnan could feel determination rise within him.

He could no longer see Captain Athos from his position, so he had no idea if there was a plan of action forthcoming. Another pained groan from Porthos floated his way upon the wind, which made him anxious to act.

Surveying his surroundings and the placement of the Spanish troops, an idea occurred to him.

He caught the eyes of the men who were closest, and murmured just loud enough to be heard over the gunfire. "Trust me?"

His brothers-in-arms looked at each other and then nodded. D'Artagnan felt humbled at the action. Hopefully that trust would not lead them all to their deaths.

"Then follow me," he said.

He held up three fingers and counted down. When he reached zero, he yelled, "Attack!"

By the grace of God, they were successful in breaking through the encirclement of their troops by the Spanish. They had been able to get away and regroup with the main army.

Porthos's wound was one of the worst, which allowed him to go to the head of the line of those being treated in the medical tent. Though not quite as bad as Porthos, he had also been injured, but d'Artagnan felt that it had been worth it. He hoped the man would live to get a laugh out of the fact that they had near-matching wounds in their sides.

The medic who had helped him had told him to go rest in his tent, but he didn't want to leave Porthos. Instead, he had moved to a rough-hewn bench just outside of the medical tent in order to stay out of the way, but had planned on sitting by Porthos's side once his friend had been treated.

Athos stormed towards him, looking equal parts angry and worried. D'Artagnan thought the Captain was going to ask after Porthos, but he was wrong.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could've—"

"I was thinking that I wanted to save Porthos's life!"

"But—"

"No, Captain!"—d'Artagnan let out a frustrated growl that ended up paining his side—"We all would've died without doing something."

"I agree," Athos said, his voice nearer to his usual volume, "but did you have to—"

"It worked didn't it?"

Athos sighed, letting d'Artagnan know that his Captain was far too exhausted and too worried about Porthos to really argue at the moment.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked, indicating the red stain on his doublet.

"I will be, and so will Porthos," d'Artagnan replied and reached out to tug Athos down to sit on the bench with him.

Athos nodded slightly. "And so will Porthos."

ooooooo

 _Three-and-a-half years since war was declared…_

"D'Artagnan," Athos said with a long-suffering sigh as he sat down in his tent. It wasn't quite as spacious as the General's but it was big enough for some time away from his men, and for one or the other of his brothers to catch a night away from their own over-crowded tents on occasion. "How many times do I need to talk to you about this disconcerting…habit of yours?"

D'Artagnan shifted his stance slightly and replied, "What do you mean?"

At his friend's response, Athos almost lost his temper, but managed to just barely keep his calm. He couldn't believe it, but d'Artagnan truly looked as if he didn't understand what they were talking about. Plus, the longer he went without answering, the more and more anxious d'Artagnan was becoming. From where he was standing, Athos could practically see the Gascon vibrating with concern.

Athos gestured for d'Artagnan to sit on the only other chair in the tent, which was in actuality a small, horribly balanced stool. No one liked to sit on the blasted thing, and tried to avoid having to do so if they could, but he was tired after the long day's battle and knew d'Artagnan must be as well. Besides, it would put him at a height advantage for a change, which he hoped would make the younger man even more uncomfortable.

"Do you know what you did today?" Athos asked, genuinely curious how the other man would answer.

However, d'Artagnan's confusion only became more pronounced. Haltingly, he replied, "I—I fought alongside you and the others in today's battle."

Fighting the desire to start loudly rebuking his friend, he took a deep breath and slowly released it. He could see that d'Artagnan genuinely didn't get it, that he didn't see that his actions could, in some respects, be considered wrong despite the good outcome. Though, to be fair, he could be a little less abstruse in the way he was speaking.

"Yes, that is correct. You fought alongside me and the others today, and you fought well. But…you were also reckless in your actions. Again."

Athos paused when he saw d'Artagnan's expression change. He knew the other man was now well-aware of what he was referring to, but he could also see that Gascon stubbornness settling in. Athos honestly didn't know why he was bothering; he has tried to talk to d'Artagnan about the worrying tendency to throw himself into danger without stopping to come up with a more well-defined strategy than to yell "attack" before charging into the thick of a battle.

They'd had this talk many times now; even Porthos had tried reasoning with him, but the words never seemed to sink into that thick, Gascon skull. But then he was reminded of how often d'Artagnan's simple yell of "attack" had helped to turn the tide in their favor. France may be struggling to win the war with Spain, but their company of soldiers seemed to be winning the day more often than not.

Perhaps d'Artagnan's recklessness was not recklessness after all, but simply an outward expression of his determination to get him and his brothers back home from the war alive. The only downside to such action was that d'Artagnan seemed to acquire too many injuries of all severities as a result.

At this point, it was a toss-up as to who Constance was going to slap in the face: him for continuing to allow the seemingly heedless behavior or d'Artagnan for being so heedless in the first place. Briefly re-evaluating the choices, Athos decided that the both of them _and_ Porthos would likely feel Madame d'Artagnan's wrath when they returned to Paris – after a happy reunion between them all, of course.

He sighed again. D'Artagnan's actions may be seen as thoughtless or careless, but they have helped to get them all out of situations that he had thought were completely hopeless. He may hate it when d'Artagnan does it, but he thinks he must simply accept that he cannot stop him from doing it. Ordering him to stop would not help as he was fully aware of how spur of the moment such action was. And how many times had they had some form of this conversation in the past three years or so without anything changing?

Aware that he had been silent for too long, and knowing that d'Artagnan's patience was coming to an end, he said, "Just… _please_ be more careful"—Athos nodded toward the bandage around his friend's thigh—"For my sake and for Constance's."

D'Artagnan looked startled at the words that his Captain had just uttered, likely having expected another dressing down for his actions on the battlefield. His friend had already opened his mouth to say something as if he had been ready to argue, but then d'Artagnan closed it again. Then, his friend smiled slightly and said, "I cannot promise anything, but I will try."

Athos stood, which prompted d'Artagnan to stand as well. He clapped a hand to d'Artagnan's shoulder and squeezed it for a moment.

"That's all I ask," he said with a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

ooooooo

 _Four years, 2 months, and 6 days into the war with Spain…_

Athos returned from his highly dangerous ride to the French encampment to get orders from their General, barely managing to escape being shot by the enemy. Both Porthos and d'Artagnan could tell from the man's expression that the exchange had not gone well.

"The only way out of here is to take that cannon," Athos said, his face grim and bordering on desperate.

"We need a plan," Porthos said, looking to Athos for instruction.

Before Athos could say anything however, d'Artagnan simply said, "Attack."

D'Artagnan rose and climbed out of the shelter of a crater made by a cannon blast, rallying the remaining troops for an attack on the Spanish line, while at the same time Porthos muttered a surprised, "Hey!"

"I hate it when he does that," Athos said with a sigh as he and Porthos stood to follow their reckless friend.

As both Porthos and Athos left the relative safety of the crater and ran after d'Artagnan, they each had a similar thought:

 _Here we go again_.

ooooooo

 _The end._

 **ooooooo**

 **A/N:** I had to laugh as I was watching the Avengers recently. Do you remember when Iron Man says the following to Captain America? – " _I have a plan: Attack_." Sounds a little like d'Artagnan in this, doesn't it? :o)

I borrowed some dialogue for the opening quote as well as for the last section of this story from the episode written by Simon J. Ashford.

Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for all of her help! Any remaining mistakes are my fault.

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


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